


It's a murder on the dance floor

by Inkspilled



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Cheeky Banter, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Frottage, Grinding, Hook-Up, M/M, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, discussed no actual public sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkspilled/pseuds/Inkspilled
Summary: Geralt visits a new club. It's not exactly what he expected but the outcome isn't half bad. Cue: Disco Jaskier and Hopeless Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

This was absolutely not his scene, Geralt thought as the band seamlessly changed into what could only be described as contemporary disco. I suppose this is what you get for under-researching the club you're going to. Listed as alternative, he had assumed it would be the same as usual: a crowd musically lamenting the terrible, horny, hardships that life had thrown their way via rumbling bass lines and lyrically veiled political statements. But this... Well, this was not that. 

Technicolor booty shorts swayed from side to side, platform heels added several inches to the crowd and entirely too many rhinestones glittered under the- and no he would not hear it out- disco ball. Geralt let his head slump to rest on his knuckles, waving down the bartender and tipping back a few shots. _Minus well make the best of the situation_ , he thought, _at least the drinks are cheap_. 

The dance floor was crowded, bodies packed together as you would expect in a club, but the dancing was far... Bolder than Geralt was used to. He'd give the patrons credit; they certainly weren't afraid of embarrassing themselves. And surprisingly, it worked. The place completely lacked the emotional stuffiness that most clubs fell victim to. The same emotional stuffiness that Geralt had come to expertly wield in order to get in, get lucky, and get out. Dancing was never his real objective and, in all fairness, he always made that clear from the get go.

Sighing, Geralt surveyed the room finding himself somewhat relieved at the sight of several couples getting handsy in (what barely passed as) secluded corners. Maybe the night wasn't a complete waste after all. And, he thought to himself, the people watching wasn't half bad either- Vodka very nearly made its way out his nose when he saw a familiar figure swaying in the thick of the crowd. She was beautiful, dark and mysterious even here, wearing what seemed to be a macramé minidress with her hair loose and wild, carelessly throwing her arms in the air. For several months Yennefer had lingered in the grey area between friend, hookup and unhealthy hyperfixation driven out of what must be a clinical level of loneliness. Geralt, who usually didn't care much about appearances, felt he would drop dead of embarrassment if she spotted him here, and that is what ultimately drove him off the barstool and into the swell. 

He didn't know how to dance to this music. It was too upbeat and too, well, dancey. His usual rhythmic bob and vague hip swivels would absolutely not cut it where everyone seemed to be Saturday Night Fever dance extras making up for lost screen time. Adapt Geralt. Just look around and copy what people are doing. Sneaking glances he managed to pick up a few moves, but not before he locked eyes with another dancer. She was beautiful (what woman wasn't), pressed up against the back of a man, who, upon further inspection was pressed up against the back of another woman. The trio gyrated, a tangle of wandering hands and legs. And the woman was still looking at him. She took a handful of the man's hair, tugged it back against her shoulder so the man's neck was bared, licked a line up and bit. Eyes locked on Geralt, her message was clear as day and Geralt was happy to take the bate. Before he could make his way towards her though, the man startled at the nip and laughed, clearly meaning to turn around to look at the woman with mock offense, before he too caught sight of Geralt. 

Geralt has never seen anyone's jaw truly drop, and yet here he was. The man's eyes widened, thick eyelashes caught the light as he snapped his mouth shut, collecting himself. Pressing a chaste kiss to the shoulder of the woman pressed against his front, he extracted himself from the trio (causing the girls visible disappointment before they quickly made do with each other) and sauntered towards Geralt.

He was also attractive, Geralt admitted to himself, though not the type he usually went for. A wide open dress shirt revealed a generous amount of curly hair, and obscenely tight jeans left very little to the imagination. Not to be outdone by the disco ball, his black blazer glittered with tiny jewels that winked rainbow in the low lighting. Blue eyes raked oh-so-unsubtly up and down Geralts' black clad form before he crowded his space, all evidence of surprise replaced with a suave air that would have been obnoxious if not for the prospects that came with it. Hell, it was still obnoxious, but if Geralt could get a little of _this_ , who was he to complain?

The man quirked an eyebrow as Geralt stood motionless, “Are you here to dance or to ogle?”

“Honestly, the latter,” Geralt snarked, a hit of satisfaction coursing through him as the man's facade dropped almost imperceptibly. _Almost_ , being the key word there. 

“Well then I’m afraid we aren’t well matched, good sir.” The man’s smirk faded and pulled taut as he spun on his heel, taking a few resolute steps away before the rhythm made its way back into his gait. _Playing hard to get_ , Geralt thought, _or he really just wants to dance_. He hesitated, considering the option before the image of how the man was… previously engaged… pops into his head, and somehow he doubted that the man's intentions for the night were entirely chaste. Geralts' not one to beg, certainly not one to chase, but he also knew not to bite the hand that feeds him, so he followed the stranger into the thrum. 

“Wait,” the man turned to face Geralt once again. His face scrunched incedulously and his eyes flicked down to where strong hands met a slim waist. 

“What do you want?” 

“Dance with me,” Geralt leant forwards, breath hot against the shell of Jaskiers' ear as he tucked back a loose strand of hair. _I might not have the looks_ , he thought as he felt the man shiver, _but damn if I don’t have the moves_. 

“Okay.” The assent was barely audible above the music, spoken on an exhale as the man stepped flush against Geralts' chest. His eyelashes caught the pink light as he looked slightly upwards and began to move, “It’s Jaskier.” 

And fuck did Jaskier know how to dance: hips swaying is tight sensual circles that flexed the lean muscle of his abdomen, and shoulders that rolled with cat like predacity. His eyes never left Geralts' as he remembered, ri _ght, shit, he didn’t know how to dance to this_. So, he did what he knew how to do; he slid his hands down the gentle curve of Jaskiers' waist until the pads of his thumbs pressed against the soft skin just inside the V of his hip bones, and spun him around. Jaskier, to his credit, didn't miss a beat. Chuckling, he pressed his ass flush with Geralts' pelvis, taking Geralts' hands in his own as he dragged them under his opened shirt to his ribcage. 

“So this is what you meant by dancing, huh?” 

“You seemed to have the same idea earlier.” 

“True, but-” Jaskier dropped his head against Geralts' shoulder, looking at him with a smirk, “That is not the issue here.” 

“What is?”

“Primarily the fact that you have done little but shyly grind against me since you so boldly chased after me.” 

“I didn’t chase-” 

“I have a feeling that you have no idea what you are doing,” Jaskier punctuated the accusation with a full body roll that nearly pushed Geralt off balance. “But no worries,” Jaskier turned around in Geralts' grasp, lips pressed against the side of his neck, “It would be an honor to teach you.” 

Confident hands grabbed Geralts' hips as Jaskier slotted his thigh lightly between Geralts'. “Just follow my lead, alright?” It should have been patronizing, it should have been a turn-off, but the barely there friction was tantalizing, and when Jaskier started to guide Geralts' hips with his own, he felt like he might just melt. Jaskier started slow with simple movements, but before long he became more confident in Geralts' ability to follow and the sway became a heavy grind. If it were anyone else it would have looked obscene, it _was_ obscene, but the artistry in Jaskiers' rhythm brought it back from the ledge of indecency. Not that Geralt had anything against indecency. _In fact_ … He raked his hands up Jaskiers' ribs, thumbing over his nipples and pushing his thigh harder between Jaskiers' legs. 

Jaskier hummed, pulling away from his neck, “Playing dirty are we? Two can play at that game.” He arched his back, leant his weight into Geralt and traced his forearms up to cover his hands. With one, he encouraged Geralt to keep rubbing a budding nipple while he pulled the other to wrap lightly around his bared neck. Completely exposed like this, every movement was languid and Geralt felt something skid in his chest when Jaskier let his mouth open and he looked up at him with lidded eyes. Geralt let his hold on Jaskiers' neck tighten fractionally and pressed his thumb to the pulsepoint under Jaskiers' neck. Jaskiers' lips turned up at the edges, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Do you like what you see?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one.” Jaskier dipped his head to take the tip of Geralts' thumb between his lips. 

“Yes. I like what I see.” 

To Geralts' abject horror, but mostly amazement, Jaskier chased Geralts' thumb with his own fingers, pressing them into his mouth on either side and pushing down onto the softness of his tongue as he opened his mouth further for Geralt to see. Removing his spit wet fingers he brought them to Geralts' lips, swiping upwards to reveal snarling canines. 

Surging forward Jaskier breathed along Geralts' ear, “Keep dancing.” Because that's what they were doing, right, _dancing_ . Geralt startled, trying to pick up his movements where they had apparently halted. Jaskier was closer; every sinful roll of his body rubbed their chests together and each thrust sent the flashing lights and upbeat music farther from Geralts' scope of awareness. And god, it had been a while since Geralt had been this blatantly aroused on a dance floor. He knew Jaskier must have been able to feel his erection through his jeans, and curious as to Jaskiers' own state, he dropped one hand to palm the front of Jaskiers'. With a cheeky smile Jaskier thrust into his grasp to reveal… _the bastard was still soft_. Geralt sulked a moment in embarrassment but was quickly distracted by clever lips on his jaw. 

“You have no idea what I could do to you, do you?” Jaksier bit along Geralts' stubble. 

“I’m starting to get an idea.”

“Oh this is nothing darling,” He chuckled. 

“What would qualify as something then?” 

“I could suck your cock. Right here in front of everyone. I could get on my knees and make you cum so hard you have to lean on my shoulders to stay upright.” 

If Geralts' pants weren’t tight before, they became so then. He felt lightheaded and he brought his hands down to grip Jaksiers hips to steady himself. Opening his eyes from where they had drifted closed he looked into Jaskiers' eyes. They were blue and reflected the disco ball lights. _Like galaxies_ , he thought to himself, before Jaskier resumed his onslaught. 

“Or you could fuck me. Bend me over and take your pleasure, drown everything else out and just feel me. I’m so hot for you Geralt, I’d _be_ so hot for you. Warm and tight inside, you could fill me up if you wanted to. Would you want to?” 

Geralts' lips felt like lead and it took entirely too much effort to grunt out a “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” Jaskier repeated his answer with a lewd wine as he let a hand fall to his crotch, rubbing himself between their bodies. _The man got off on hearing himself talk,_ Geralt mused, _that felt right somehow._

“How would you fuck me Geralt? Would you take me against a wall, thrust into me hard until I’m bouncing with it? Until I’m _screaming_ with it?” 

“No.”

“No?” Jaskier sounded startled, like he really had expected that would be Geralts' primary fantasy. 

“No, I’d take you slow, here, for everyone to see. I’d make you dance on me, fuck me like this, to the music. You’d put on a show; everyone would wish they were me. But they couldn’t be. They couldn’t have you.” 

“ _Oh_.” To Geralts' satisfaction, Jaskiers' dancing was rapidly losing its finesse. 

“Then, when I’d had my fill, I’d fuck you brainless. I’d take you home and throw you on the bed. You’d be so beautiful for me, all spread out on the sheets. I’d milk you until you couldn’t remember your own _name._ I’d have you begging for me, Jaskier. I wouldn’t stop until I was too tired to keep going, and then I’d watch you. You would touch yourself and not cum until I told you to.”

“ _Holy shit_ , _Geralt_.” 

“Jaskier.” 

Jaskier abruptly pulled away, shaking his head as if waking up from a daydream. His glassy eyes refocused and a new determination shown through them. The lack of body contact left Geralt aching and he chased it subconsciously. 

“Take me home.”

“That’s forward.” 

“I’m not coming on this dance floor, take me home.”

“What happened to all your talk?” Geralt smiled at the eyeroll that earned from Jaskier. 

“It was talk, of which I’ve had enough,” he grabbed Geralts' hand, practically dragging him to the parking lot. “Which car is yours?”

Geralt double clicked his key fob, and the car beeped. Jaskier made a beeline, gate decidedly stiff as he slid into the passenger seat. Geralt joined him in the car, starting the engine. He glanced over at Jaskier and nearly choked on air to the sight of him: Legs spread obscenely, jeans unzipped, palming himself over his briefs. His head was tipped back on the headrest in pleasure and his bottom lip bitten as he glanced over at Geralt. 

“Are we going or not?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re going.” 

The car ride was, to put it lightly, torturous. Focusing on the road was near impossible when half way through the drive Jaskier hiked his legs up onto the dashboard and proceeded to fuck his fist with languorous rolls. It wasn’t until the second or third time Jaskier moaned Geralts’ name that Geralt realized that he hadn’t given it to Jaskier. 

“How do you know my name?” 

Jaskier took his hand off his cock and shifted face Geralt, “Yennefer doesn’t mind kissing and telling.” 

Geralt huffed, shaking his head. “You know Yennefer?” 

“Not really, I just know her gossip.” 

“Is that why you came up to me?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not as if you weren’t well off for the night before spotting me. Did you pursue me to get in on the gossip? See if I live up to expectations?” Geralts’ chest tightened at the thought, he wasn’t quite sure why: a fuck was a fuck but the sweetness of Jaskiers’ lips soured in memory at the thought that he was just a novelty. 

“Bold of you to assume that the gossip was complimentary.” 

Geralts’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline, briefly taking his eyes off the road to look at Jaskier, “What is it then?” 

“Do you really care about appearances that much? Well if you must know, it's only that-” Jaskier returned his hand to his flagging cock, “You fuck like your life depends on it, you’re built like a god and your love bites have earned you the name ‘The White Wolf.’ Which, by the way I expect you to fully live up to.”

“You like to be marked up?”

“ _Love_ it. Collar me with bruises, let me _wear_ them.” 

“Cheeky.”

“I prefer compelling. Are you in?” 

“I’m trying to drive.” 

“Am I that distracting?” 

“Yes,” Geralt grit his teeth, resisting the urge to find out what Jaskier could possibly be doing that involved lowering the seat back. 

“For the record, Geralt, I approached you because you're _hot_ , not because I wanted a taste of Yennefer's sloppy seconds.” 

“Hm.” Geralt breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled into his flat's driveway, “Put your dick away.” 

“Don’t want to?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. “We’re not having sex in this car.” 

“Why not?” Jaskier fully reclined his seat. 

“Because we are two full-grown men and this is a 2010 Toyota Camry.” 

Jaskier chuckled and zipped up his jeans, “If you insist. Lead the way.” 

Jaskier followed Geralt to his flat with an honestly disconcerting amount of formality. It wasn’t until the door was closed and locked behind them that Jaskier pounced. Dragging Geralt by his belt loops he pulled him until he bracketed Jaskier on the inside of a doorframe. Jaskier spun around, grabbing Geralt's hand and guiding it to hike up his thigh along the perpendicular wall. He ground forward against the wood, then back against Geralt's clothed dick, gasping at the friction. Geralt crowded him, pinning his wrists above his head with his other hand. He went to chase the heat that was growing between them, but upon leaning forward he stumbled and the pair keeled sideways. 

“Why are we doing this here?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Here- Why are you seducing me in a door frame?” 

“I’m trying to spice things up.”

Geralt considered turning around and walking out of his apartment for a moment, before he opted to cut his losses and hoist Jaskier up by the waist. Walking to the bed, he deposited the man on the mattress and crawled up after him. Jaskier looked up at him for a moment, ruffled from the unexpected toss. He really was beautiful splayed like this- looking utterly fucked out before anything had even begun. Lipstick from the two women he had danced with earlier covered his neck, and Geralt covered each mark with a kiss of his own. He bit down hard enough that Jaskier gasped and wrapped his legs around Geralt's waist, drawing their hips together. Working his way across and up Jaskiers’ neck, Geralt claimed Jaskiers’ mouth in a deep, slow kiss; a far cry from the filthy ministrations conducted at the club. _Really_ , Geralt thought, _he was kind of demure like this- on the bed under him in missionary, hands scrabbling over his back looking for purchase_. Jaskier melted into the kiss, all fight seeming to have drained out of him at Geralt's touch. When he drew back for air, Jaskier was looking up with him nothing short of wonder in his eyes. The look was intense, intimate in a way that made something roll a little in his stomach and Geralt couldn’t stand it for long, hiding his blush in the crook of Jaskiers shoulder. 

“Are you going to make good on your promise?” Jaskier asked, bravado lacing only the edges of his words. 

“What promise?” 

“To ‘fuck me brainless’ was the phrasing I think.” 

“I never promised that.” 

“Oh so you won't?” 

“A promise isn’t the same thing as a guarantee.” Geralt smiled into the hair curling under Jaskiers ear. Jaskier scoffed, hitting Geralt's ass with the back of his heel. 

“Bastard. Take my clothing off.” 

Geralt peeled off Jaskiers clothing between stolen kisses, then turned his attention to his own. With no shortage of shuffling and pokey elbows they were nude, Geralt kneeling above Jaskier, taking in the view. Jaskier, as it seemed, was doing the same. _He looks like the cat got the cream._ Geralt thought with a healthy dose of self-satisfaction and then chuckled at the accidental innuendo. Jaskier spread his hands over the bulk of Geralt's thighs, feeling the curves of his muscle as he brought them higher to his abdomen and higher yet, to his pecs. With a shameless grin, he squeezed. 

“Has anyone told you how great your tits are?” 

“Not in those exact terms, no.” 

“Shame.” Jaskier pushed with a surprising amount of strength, sending Geralt off-guard to his back. Jaskier quickly followed him, spread his thighs apart and licked a stripe up his perineum. 

“ _Holy shit_!” 

“You like that?” Jaskier dragged his teeth along his inner thigh, pressed a thumb to the very base of Geralt's cock and massaged. 

Geralt made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a gasp at the sudden contact, hips bucking unchecked, “Who wouldn't?” 

“I’m sure there are a few out there, but this-” Jaskier shuffled for a moment, tossing Geralt's legs over his shoulders and shoving a pillow under his own hips, “Is unanimously appreciated.” He looked at Geralt pointedly before dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside of Geralt's cock to the head, taking it into his mouth. Geralt threw his head back, arching into the feeling. 

Jaskier pulled off for a moment to suck at one of Geralts’ nipples before returning, “No, watch me.” 

With no small amount of effort, Geralt propped his head up on his arm and looked down at Jaskier. Nestled between his legs, head bobbing lewdly as he sucked his cock, blue eyes looked back at him, a challenge clear within them. Geralt planted his feet on the bed and slowly leveraged his hips upwards, rolling his cock deeper into Jaskiers mouth. At the encouraging hum he continued, fucking into the waiting heat. The sight was ungodly, Jaskier nose deep in his pubic hair humping the pillow to match each of Geralt's thrusts, moaning as if Geralt was fucking his ass not his mouth. And _god, he wishes he was_. He pulled Jaskier up by his hair. 

“Turn around.” 

“Ohh, we’re being _serious_ now.” Jaskier teased, turning around nonetheless. 

“Stop talking.” 

“You don’t want me to,” Jaskier reached behind himself and spread his asscheeks, “Lube?” 

“Yeah.” Geralt fumbled around in his bedside drawer, refusing to take his eyes off of where Jaskier was teasing his hole with spit slicked fingers. He turned around to look at Geralt and reached his hand out to where Geralt was holding the lube. Jaskier got to work with almost mechanical efficiency. 

“You know,” he said, bending over to give Geralt even more of a show, “this is actually my least favorite part.” 

Geralt reached out to play with Jaskiers' balls, “Why?”

“It’s just boring; a necessary roadblock before the main event.” 

“Who have you been fucking?” 

“Oh you know, just around.” 

“Well, clearly not the right people.” 

It was Jaskiers turn to ask, “Why?” 

Geralt gently pulled Jaskiers’ hand away from himself, then turned them so they were facing each other on their sides. 

“You’ll see.” 

“Cocky.” 

Geralt glanced down at his own dick, and Jaskier smothered a chuckle against Geralts' lips. Geralt deepened the kiss as he replaced Jaskiers' fingers with his own. Jaskier gasped, squirming in Geralt's embrace and then shuddering when Geralt pressed against just the right spot. 

“Again.” 

“My pleasure.” He slowly pulsed his fingers against Jaskiers’ prostate, drawing a litany of whines.

“Mine, actually,” the sass came out breathy and broken as he went to touch himself, only for his hand to be batted away. 

Geralt thrust harshly and licked into Jaskiers' mouth as it opened in a silent scream. Jaskier vibrated against him as the rhythmic press of Geralts' fingers stilled and a ceaseless pressure was applied to his prostate. 

“Oh _god_ , Geralt.” 

“Still boring?” 

“It’s too much, Geralt, please _oh-_ ” Jaskiers' dick twitched where it was caught between them, leaking precum onto Geralt’s sac.

“Begging already?”

“You know what, yes, actually. _Ah_ , I’ve been on edge since I first saw you _please_ fuck me.”

“I bet you could cum just like this, untouched on my fingers, again and again until there's nothing left and you’re right on the edge of pleasure and pain.” 

“Ohohoho god what have I gotten myself into, Geralt, _there_!” 

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, _yes_ , but please now just-” Jaskier threw his leg over Geralt's waist and lined his dick up at his entrance. He teased the head of Geralts' cock against his rim. Geralt gave in to temptation and pressed forward, sheathing himself in one fluid motion. Jaskiers’ eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes almost brushing against Geralts' cheek as their foreheads rested against each other. This position, the way that Jaskier reached up to caress the nape of Geralts’ neck, was painfully intimate. _It’s too much_ , Geralt thought, _too much like lovers on a lazy morning, too much like you’re holding someone you never want to let go._ When Jaskier re-opened his eyes his pupils were blown wide. 

“Fuck me.” The words ghosted against Geralts' lips. 

“How do you want it?” 

Jaskier smiled at the question, glee crinkling the skin around his eyes. 

“I want you to hold my hands above my head, press my face to these pillows and rail me like you’ve gone a full year without.” 

Geralt matched his smile, “As you wish.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot but now there's a plot whoops

Geralt woke to the sound of something sizzling on his stovetop. His stovetop, the stovetop that he owns, in his apartment, that he lives in alone. The moment of panic passed as he stretched and felt the dried come on his stomach crack.  _ Gross _ …  _ but damn, that was a good fuck. _ He took a second to sprawl boneless on the bed, threading his fingers through his hair with a grin as he recalled the previous night. It’s one of the rare occasions that he remembered the name of his partner, and the even rarer occasion that they’re still there when he woke up. The fact that his hookup now seems to be making them breakfast is completely unprecedented, and honestly, absurd. Geralt swung his legs over the bed, considered throwing on some boxers but decided to forgo modesty at the memory of his dick sliding in and out of Jaskiers asshole. Jaskier, who seemed to have the same idea about clothing, was plating pancakes, bacon and eggs. 

“Do you make it a habit of cooking your hookups meals?” 

“Only if I really want to fuck them again.” 

“And it doesn’t scare them off?” 

“Not if they really want to fuck me again,” Jaskier put the plates down with a smirk and hopped up beside them, “and you don’t seem scared.” 

“Get your balls off my table.”

“Suck my cock,” Jaskier spread his legs. 

“Get  _ off  _ of my kitchen table.” 

“Then eat your breakfast.” 

“Are you fucking  _ insane _ ?” 

Jaskier slid off the table with a huff, pulled up a chair and straddled it. Geralt looked down at his sunny side up eggs with something akin to despair. 

“Please don’t tell me this works.”

“What is this?” 

“Raiding your one night stands kitchen in the morning like you’ve lived their your entire life, fully nude with the curtains wide open and a family living next door, making a three course meal breakfast with ingredients that you didn’t pay for, sitting your filthy ass down on a strangers dining table, and telling them to suck your cock. Please tell me that this has never actually worked.” 

“Well when you put it that way...” Jaskier glanced at the windows and hunched in on himself.

Geralt sighed and cut into the pancakes, “Look, I don’t want more. This was sex.” 

“Oh I wholeheartedly agree, I’m not exactly one for monogamy ethier.” 

“So this,” Geralt's gestured at the his plate with his fork, “is included in just sex for you.” 

“Everyone’s hungry the morning after.” 

Geralt shook his head, dismissed any lingering thoughts of calling 999 and took a long look at Jaskier. He was still as attractive as he remembered, with an added charm from his bed ruffled hair, 5 o-clock shadow and the purpling bruises dotting his collar bones. Jaskier met his gaze warily, furrowed his eyebrows, and then shrugged, turning to eat as well. 

"So," Jaskier said through a mouthful of eggs, "give me a review."

"Excuse me?"

"Ya know, things to improve on. What did you like? What didn't you like? Tell me about it." he leaned his elbows on the table and looked at Geralt attentively.

"I... It was sex."

"Ugh, was it that unmemorable?

"I mean, it was  _ good _ , but my mind wasn't blown or anything."

"Rude!"

"You asked."

"So you're telling me that I made breakfast for a bloke who thinks, nay,  _ says _ , that I'm a bad fuck-"

"I didn't say that."

"You minus well have! I strive for excellence every time and anything less is a failure."

"Right."

"This is so embarrassing!" Jaskier returned to his breakfast and sprawled his legs under the table in a manner very unlike a man who was in any way embarrassed.

"Mmmhmm."

"You aren't even going to like, ask for a redo? I'd be happy to give you a redo."

Geralt thought nothing this man said could surprise him anymore, and yet this particular comment earned a swift side-eye.

"Oh come on, I could cater especially to you! What are you into; bondage? a little pain? Honestly Geralt, I'm down for almost anything. I draw my line at piss," Jaskier waved his fork towards Geralt’s genitals and then took another bite.

"Jaskier, how long are you going to stay in my apartment?"

"Not sure, how long will you have me?"

"If I had it my way, the only time I would have been having you was last night."

"So you're going to just throw me out then? In the nude, with a mouthful of bread?"

"No?"

"Excellent. You know, if you really wanted me gone you could have made that happen a while ago. You're," Jaskier's eyes slid unsubtly up and down Geralt's form, "Very fit. Honestly, I think you're into this." He leaned back on the chair smugly, crossing his arms, "I could stay here; serve you whenever you wanted. Take your cock like a good boy, help you relax after work. I could be like your kept boy." 

Geralt was not unaware of the way that Jaskier had pressed his pelvis forwards, the way his posture changed to accentuate the curve of his back, "Like a freak, but okay." Jaskier shot upright.

"A freak!?" he squawked, "A  _ freak _ ?"

Geralt flinched at the shrill of his voice and looked at the clock.  _ Shit _ . Well, maybe not shit, being late to work was an excellent way to put a definitive end to this miserable excuse for a morning after. He looked back at Jaskier, who was muttering something and animatedly stabbing at the last of his breakfast.  _ This _ , he thought, i _ s why I never get involved with that scene _ . Sexy car shenanigans be damned, it wasn't worth this effort.

"I've got to go to work."

"Now?"

"Past now. You know the way out." Geralt got up, washed off, dressed and left the naked man sitting baffled at his kitchen table. 

The work day was uneventful. Geralt huffed at the thought; few would consider free falling three stories unnoteworthy. Honestly, Geralt preferred the combat scenes, particularly when a good acrobatic sword fight was involved, but stunt work was almost always exciting at worst and fun at best…with no shortage of bruises. He swung open the door, half expecting to see Jaskier still there, but let out a sigh of relief when he found the apartment empty. In fact, the breakfast dishes had been cleaned and nearly stacked beside the sink which was, Geralt thought, surprisingly considerate for a man who had no qualms with letting himself uninvited into a strangers home. Well, he hadn't let himself in per say, but he didn't let himself out. Geralt's eyebrows furrowed as he reviewed the events of the morning. That's not a normal thing for hookups to do right? Geralt shook his head, _ absolutely right _ . He wasn't crazy.

He shucked off his sweat drench work clothes and stretched his sore muscles. The day they get a shower on set will be a good one, he thought, an assessment the unsuspecting subway commuters would probably agree with, too. Yennefer always made fun of him for taking cold showers after work, but she was one to talk; she took showers so scalding that on the few occasions he had joined her, he feared for the well being of his skin.  _ There was just something much more refreshing about cold shower _ s, Geralt thought;  _ It's like a waterfall. _ As he scrubbed the remaining grime that had worked its way up into his hair (no he would not cut it, much to the wig department's frustration), something caught his eye next to the sink. Turning off the tap and slinging a towel around his waist, he stepped closer to it.

_ "Hope you don't mind me using the shower. Didn't realize how nasty I'd gotten. Don't worry, I cleaned the kitchen table. Jaskier."  _ And below it, a phone number.

It wasn't the first time that a hookup had left their number with him, and if all goes well it won't be the last, but Geralt had a policy of not calling people back. He didn't dally in feelings, that is until Yennefer happened.  _ And _ , he thought,  _ he really should have known something was wrong then when he was the one who gave his number to her _ .  _ Unprecedented _ . 

To Jaskiers credit though, he had made more of an impression than had Geralt let on over breakfast. Ranking hookups (by what, " _ goodness _ ?"), felt entirely too juvenile, but if he had to, Jaskier would be near the top. Definitely at the top is he was just considering male contenders. Did that warrant him a call? Maybe?  _ No _ . Geralt shucked his towel and threw it over his head. Geralt didn't do ‘friends with benefits’. Geralt tried considerably hard to not do ‘friends’ at all, and judging by the gnawing loneliness that ate away at him eight nights a week, he was doing a pretty good job. It's because of his career, he reminded himself, because he travels so often and forming close bonds just wasn't practical. And, despite Yennefer's urging, he would rather miss a landing cushion than make a social media account.

Jaskier had been fun, strange, talented... Geralt shivered, though he was sure it was the AC kicking on and not the memory of Jaskiers’ tongue on his neck, of his fingers pressing up against his hole, of the filthy things that he had whispered in his ear- words cut off by whines when Geralt hit just the right spot... it was the water evaporating of his skin probably. Loathe as he was to admit it, he hadn't minded breakfast either. Jaskier absolutely didn't need to know that Geralt usually ordered a breakfast sandwich from the one Dunkin Donuts in the London area. Sure, the egg felt and tasted like cardboard, but it was fast and the cheapest around. Efficient. 

Suddenly questioning his validity as an adult, Geralt swung open the door to his refrigerator. A few odd jars of jams and pickles dotted the shelves, a sad looking box of salad occupied the produce drawer, and his last remaining egg rolled loose off the shelf with a splat to the ground. Geralt heaved a sigh and scraped the egg off the floor. He really did need to go shopping. Feeling extremely put upon, he toed his shoes on and made his way to the farmers market.

He'd never tell, but the farmers market was one of his favorite places. There was something timeless about it; hard working people selling their produce and shoppers marveling at the sights and smells. It was good, honest work. In another life he could see himself being happy as a farmer. The routine and quietness of it would suit him... but it lacked an edge that he finds himself starving for on late nights, itching for on the weekends. The feeling of freefall and blood pounding in his veins in the morning. A child ran past him giggling, and soon another followed, aim not quite as true, slamming right into his leg. She fell back with a gasp, elbows skidding in the gravel, but did not wail as he had expected. Instead, she looked up at him with wide blue eyes, hair almost as white as his own strewn over her face. He reached down to offer her a hand, but she quickly jumped up, gave him what seemed to be a curtsy, babbled an incomprehensible apology and ran off to catch up with her friend. In her dust, Geralt was left there, hunched over, seemingly initiating a handshake with the ground. Several women giggled around him, clearly charmed, before he straightened himself and tugged his shirt back from where it had rucked up.

He didn't mind children. Honestly, he found them more tolerable than most adults; they were less likely to shoot him odd glances, question his hair or cower away from his permanent scowl. _ Perhaps it's because they hadn't learned to be afraid of the proper things, _ he thought,  _ that foreboding, muscular men with white hair and golden eyes were probably not friends _ . Eventually they would all learn, and their innocent polite smiles would become unsubtle side eyes and quick turns of heads.

He made his way around the stalls, being as much of a minimalist as humanly possible when everything looked so  _ good _ , before making his way back to his apartment. The evening sun cast golden shadows over the kitchen as he stowed his things away. Dust glittered in the air as he swept his palm over the empty shelves. Everything was still, quiet, except for the faint sound of friendly chatter that drifted in on the wind.

Geralt liked living on his own, he did, but in moments like these, when the day was done and there was nothing left to do but eat and sleep, he felt as though something was missing. He could never quite put his finger on what it was, and chalked it up to needing a hobby; something to entertain him in the twilight hours, but he wasn't exactly crafty, and nothing he tried stuck. He shrugged, tried to shake the oppressive feeling of melancholy off his shoulders, and turned the stove top on. In time with the igniter’s soft clicking came a knock at the his door.


End file.
